


You get me closer to god

by NuclearNik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23778052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik
Summary: The combination of his confidence and the commanding air surrounding him intrigued her, and when she’d taken him home that night, he’d fucked her against the floor to ceiling windows in her posh flat with the side of her face pressed to the glass, looking out over the lights of the city.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 33
Kudos: 149





	You get me closer to god

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/gifts).



> For the best enabler, LK! She prompted some Pansy/Neville smut with the word "rapture" as inspo. Many thanks to my love [weestarmeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/pseuds/weestarmeggie) for pre-reading this filth.
> 
> This is just for fun and isn't beta'd, so any mistakes are my fault!

Pansy’s view of the world was straightforward, a simple phrase drilled into her head since toddlerhood: eat or get eaten. 

It coloured everything she did. It was the ruler by which she measured potential friends and suitors, and how she gauged which moves would be successful and which would fail before they even started.

Life was a game of chess, and a witch had to be aggressive, alert, always one step ahead of her opponent. She had little patience for the weak, and she’d sussed out where each student in her year fell within the first few weeks of school.

One of her peers was especially transparent.

Neville Longbottom was prey. He wasn’t the hunter; he would never be.

And so, when she’d run into him at a pub in Diagon years later, he’d been a surprise.

The stammering and blushing days were over; he carried himself proudly, head high and shoulders straight, and all sharp angles where he used to be soft.

He’d bought her a drink and had, in fact, ordered before she had a chance to tell him what she wanted. The confidence exuding from him as he slid the glass towards her had made her bristle, and she was a little bit cross that he’d guessed correctly at what she liked. When the ice in her glass rattled at the bottom, he pulled her onto the dance floor, sure hands guiding her body.

The combination of his confidence and the commanding air surrounding him intrigued her, and when she’d taken him home that night, he’d fucked her against the floor to ceiling windows in her posh flat with the side of her face pressed to the glass, looking out over the lights of the city. 

She'd gotten a taste, and she needed more. On the next weekend, she went back to the same pub. They hadn’t spoken after that night, and she certainly wouldn’t be the first one to reach out, so instead, she went out hoping he’d be there.

He was.

Slowly they'd transitioned from only meeting under the cover of night to straight in the bright light of day. He took her to museums and cafes and arboretums, and each time Pansy learned more about the heart of the man who knew how to play her body like a master violinist.

He loved his gran and spending time outside. When they wandered around the city, he held her hand tenderly and always walked closest to the street. He was sharp, far cleverer than she'd ever given him credit for, and unfailingly loyal.

And he had the uncanny ability to loosen the death-grip of control she held in nearly every aspect of her life, allowing her a break from thinking, from always needing to be one step ahead.

"Pansy." The firm utterance of her name brought her to the present where she stood in the foyer of Neville’s ancestral home. They visited every other week for Sunday roast with his gran. This week, though, she was out of town, and they had the place to themselves and a whole weekend to come up with creative ways to spend their time. 

Coming straight from work, Pansy had pushed open the door to find a small bouquet of wildflowers floating just in front of her. With a smile, she dropped her bag by the front entrance and snagged them by the stems, bringing them to her nose and inhaling deeply as she walked down the hallway. When she rounded the corner, she was greeted by the sight of Neville lounging in a velvet upholstered chair, his elbows propped on each arm. She drank him in with her eyes, gaze running over his form, and her heart sped up just from looking at him.

She hoped it would always be like this, that there would always be butterflies erupting in her stomach whenever she was near him, just like she’d read in the paperback romance novel she’d nicked from a Muggle-born on the Hogwarts Express in sixth year.

He grinned up at her as she walked closer, coming to a stop in front of him. She flicked her wand at the flowers, and they flew into a vase on the coffee table. 

Raising his hand, Neville twirled his finger in the air, indicating for her to turn around. Spinning slowly, she showed off her bum in the form-fitting pencil skirt, throwing a little extra wiggle in her hips. 

The whistle that passed his lips made her smirk at the bookshelves as she slowly turned. The seamed stockings she’d donned that morning were a personal favourite—they made her feel sexy and put together—and it was simply the cherry on top that Neville had a preference for them too.

“Mmm. Don’t you look pretty?” When she faced him again, a shiver raced down her spine at the way he looked her body up and down, gaze especially voracious.

Bidding her closer, he crooked a finger at her and shifted in the chair. When she was near enough to touch, his hands flew out to tug at her hips, pulling her to him until she straddled his lap, her knees sinking into the plush velvet of the chair as she set her wand on the small table to the left.

Head bowed slightly, she pressed her forehead to his as she slid her fingers over his shoulders to twine behind his neck and breathed in the scent of him: worn leather and pine. "Hi," she whispered.

"Hi." He surged up, kissing her deeply, one hand grasping the back of her neck firmly, thumb skipping over her skin and holding her still as he ate at her mouth. It was hot and hard and everything she needed after a long day of fighting to be heard over the droning voices of rich, old wizards who thought their opinions mattered more than hers simply because they had pricks.

The unfortunate mental image the thought spurred had her thinking of wrinkly appendages, and that was not the headspace she'd like to be in at that moment. She was relieved when Neville twisted his fingers in the hair at her nape and tugged, _hard_ , bending her head back to bare her throat. He was ruthless in his attack, sucking little bruises on her skin, reminders of how completely and utterly claimed she was. 

It was glorious. It had maybe been three minutes since she'd walked in the door, and already he had her tuned in to him, ready to listen, do whatever he asked, whatever he demanded.

No strategy required. Not here, not with him. He had her, and that was it. She was free to ignore the need to plot her next move and just _feel._

Speaking into the hollow of her throat just below her jaw, he said, “Take off your blouse.”

Before she even registered that she was moving, she leaned back as her fingers tore at the buttons on her shirt, so desperate was she for him to touch her, skin on skin.

The sleeves had barely slipped off her shoulders when his mouth engulfed her nipple, tongue and teeth bringing it to a sharp peak before switching sides. Lifting her hand, she slid her fingers into his thick hair, holding him to her breast as sounds she couldn’t control poured from her lips.

With a wet _pop_ , he released her nipple and nuzzled his face into the valley between her breasts, the warm puffs of his breath comforting against her skin despite the coil of need winding tighter and tighter with every move he made. He’d barely touched her, and already she was raring to go, wanting more.

Shifting her in his arms and standing, he banded one arm around her back and the other under her arse as he walked down the hallway that led to the master bedroom. He set her down at the foot of the bed. Like a panther locked onto his prey, Neville moved In a slow circle around her, trailing his fingers over her skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake. When he rounded her back, she had no warning before he grabbed either side of the slit in the back of her skirt and ripped. The action made her jump, made her breath quicken in anticipation of what was to come.

As he tugged the torn pieces of fabric from her, she stood there in the centre of the room, left clad in only her underwear and the garter belt holding up her stockings. Neville’s gaze drank her in.

“Get on the bed, love.”

She obeyed, hopping onto the mattress with so much enthusiasm she’d be embarrassed if this were any other moment with any other person.

Laying there on her back, she watched him undress, captivated at the sight of his strong fingers pulling each button on his shirt from its mooring with painstaking attention and his hands as they undid his belt and slid it from the loops, dropping it to the ground where it fell with a metallic _clang._

Though she loved the main event, the waiting was often her favourite part. He skillfully raised the tension inside her like a building wave, until she’d do anything he wanted if he’d just touch her— _really_ touch her.

He walked to the bed, and she thought he was going to end her torment. Instead, he touched her... but never in the places she truly wanted. His fingers slipped over the hollow at the back of her knee, brushed over each hipbone as he unhooked the garter belt and slid the stockings down her legs, and trailed tantalizingly along the outside of her thighs as he hooked his index fingers in her knickers and pulled them off.

Finally, _blessedly_ , he climbed on the bed, propping himself on his elbows and layering his body over hers, pressing her into the mattress in that way she adored. 

The warm weight of him above her made her head go a bit dreamy, and she didn’t register that he'd spoken until he shifted and gathered her wrists in one hand, fingers closing tightly around them. “Don’t move.”

She wanted to follow the order, really she did, but the temptation of his body against hers was too strong, and she wiggled, bucking her hips in an attempt to get the friction she wanted. Resting just a bit more weight on her to hold her still, he spoke into her ear, his tongue curling around the vowels deliciously. “You’re not listening very well, darling. Maybe you need a lesson in patience.”

_Oh gods._

If she thought he was tormenting her before, every movement designed to drive her mad, it was nothing compared to the onslaught he launched upon her person now. He was everywhere at once, hands and mouth all over her skin, fingers driving into her at a leisurely pace as her moans devolved into whimpers.

He brought his mouth between her legs and _devoured_ her. Time became a fuzzy convention; it felt like hours but it could have been minutes that he pushed her right to the edge over and over again, never letting her fall over. When his lips closed around her clit and sucked, it sent a bolt of lightning through her body, and she cried out. She was so close to rapturous release, nearly there, just a little…

She wanted to sob when he pulled back and looked up at her. 

He held firm, asking, “When do you come?”

She could only blink up at him as she gasped for air, heart beating so hard she felt it pounding in her ears.

“When,” he said, speaking around slightly accelerated breaths as his hands tightened on her thighs, no doubt leaving behind little fingertip-shaped bruises she would admire in the mirror the next morning, “do you come?” The edge in his voice was a little mean, and it only heightened her desire, driving it to a fever pitch until the only thing that mattered—the only thing she knew—was her need for release.

“When you let me.” 

“What was that?” The stupid smirk on his face infuriated her, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snarking at him, something that would only mean things for her that she would like to avoid. With a deep breath, she repeated the words, louder this time. “Only when you let me.” The last word dragged and got a little wobbly at the end, her over-sensitised body utterly overwhelmed.

He pushed off her to stand at the foot of the bed. There were no instructions to move; he simply tugged hard on her ankles so she flew down the bed to perch at the edge. Flipping her over with ease, he positioned her like a doll, pulling her hips up until she was on her hands and knees as his palm met her skin with a quiet _thwap_ , one side and then the other. “Your arse is awful pretty when it bounces.” She smiled to herself at his infatuation with her bum as he did it a few more times, finally letting out a groan and moving on.

His hands ran over her shoulder blades, one catching in her hair and pulling until her back was deeply arched. His other hand slipped down between her legs, fingers circling her clit before entering her without warning. She was ready—that much was clear from the way his fingers slipped easily over her soaking folds—but she was still so sensitive, and a hissed sigh from behind clenched teeth left her at the slight burn of _too much_ that made the ache low in her belly burn brighter.

“Is all this for me?” he rasped against her skin as he roughly moved his fingers in and out of her, the combination of his tight grip in her hair and the way he was casually fucking her with his fingers as if it were a regular Tuesday afternoon driving her mad.

Nonsensical pleas for mercy fell from her lips, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could handle.

Reading her body expertly, he slipped his fingers from her and let them make a damp trail over her belly as he pulled her upright, resting her bum on her legs. His fingers tugged at her nipple almost absently—like her body didn’t belong to her anymore, like he could do whatever he pleased—before sliding up her neck. The realisation that she had no control washed over her like she was sinking into a hot bath, and the warmth of his firm chest against her back pulled a sigh from her.

A shiver skittered over her skin again as he gathered her hair in one hand and pulled it to the side over her shoulder, exposing her neck and tracing the tip of his tongue over the tender skin.

“Can you take more, princess?” The way he growled it sounded like a threat, but she knew it was his way of checking in with her.

“ _Yesyesyes,”_ she enthusiastically answered, whimpering when he slid one hand around her throat just under her jaw, fingers splayed out against her skin as he lined himself up, sliding into her with one smooth thrust. With rough hands, he gathered her arms behind her and pushed her upper body forward, curling his free arm just above her elbows and cinching her arms back tightly, forcing her back to arch.

In an impressive display of wandless magic, he summoned a mirror and made it float near the headboard they were facing. The visual of the two of them was obscene and somehow further arousing despite the fact that she thought there was absolutely no way she could be any more wound up than she already was.

She was wrong. The fire just burned hotter, the world narrowing to their physical points of connection until that was all she knew.

“Look at you. Taking my cock so well with that perfect little cunt.”

The manhandling and the filthy words coming from his mouth combined with the endless time he’d spent working her up and denying her served to thrust her to the edge of climax at the speed of light. It was a little ridiculous, actually, how quickly he could make her come. 

Though her mind was hazy, she knew she’d have to ask, so she opened her mouth and rambled, repeating, “Please,” and, “Can I—” over and over again. 

“Fuck, Pansy. You’re a good fucking girl.”

“ _Please._ ” 

“Okay, okay,” he grunted into her hair, thrusts speeding up as she clenched around him. The sound of his hips slapping against her arse and their laboured breathing was loud in the otherwise quiet room, and he drove into her, fucking her through the aftershocks of her orgasm and finally spilling inside her as he whispered her name.

He held her in the aftermath, curled up in his lap as he stroked her hair, summoning a glass of water and helping her drink. They cleaned up, and he rubbed lotion on the marks he’d left littered over her body, soothing her with his gentle touch, and dressing her in one of his faded cotton shirts.

When they finally crawled into bed and he held her close, she was out before her head hit the pillow.

* * *

The morning light slipping in through curtains she’d forgotten to close last night woke Pansy, and she rubbed her eyes, still blurry with sleep, and turned on her side expecting to see Neville snoring beside her. 

Instead, his side of the bed was empty, and she was already grumpy just one minute into the day. She’d been hoping for some cuddles, or maybe a soft, sleepy morning snog. Waking up alone peeved her, but then a delicious scent piqued her interest, so she dragged herself out of bed, stopping at the vanity to fix her hair and tug the hem of the too-big shirt she was wearing over her thighs.

The sight of Neville’s bare back as she rounded the corner into the kitchen brought her to an abrupt halt, and all she could do for a moment was just stare. The smooth muscles in his back rippled as he fixed breakfast, an apron tied round his waist and low-slung pyjama bottoms hanging off his hips.

A wolf-whistle left her lips before she could stop it, and Neville glanced at her over his shoulder with a sly smile as he put a little extra swing in his hips just for her. His bum looked spectacular in the plaid pyjamas, and she couldn’t help herself; she had to touch him. 

Coming up behind him, she slid her arms around his waist and pressed herself against his back, closing her eyes and soaking up all the heat emanating from him. “Hey, hot stuff.”

“Good morning.” There was a laugh in his gravelly voice as it rumbled in his chest, the vibrations rolling through her.

“Mmm,” she said against his skin as she snuggled closer. “Good indeed.”

“What do you want in your crepes?” On the counter, several bowls of already chopped and diced fruit were laid out. 

“Strawberries.” It was always strawberries. She loved them. They’d had a patch of the berries in the garden when she’d been a child, but the house-elves tended to it, and Pansy was never allowed to touch.

But now...

Now the yard behind their cosy brownstone was overflowing with plants, bursting with dark green leaves and every variety of fruit and veg imaginable, magical _and_ mundane. Pansy hated cooking—but she found she liked to garden. Pulling weeds and trimming stems was relaxing. Neville had taught her a lot about plants, and she helped out with the garden in exchange for him handling meals with his far superior cooking skills.

And, sweet Circe, he looked good in an apron. There were times she asked him to wear it and nothing else, and he obliged occasionally, fueling endlessly naughty fantasies of him taking her on the kitchen island in naught but those apron strings. 

He led her outside onto the deck bordering the kitchen, pulled out her chair, and helped her sit—ever the gentlemen—before serving up two plates with cream and strawberry covered crepes and sitting across from her. It was a lovely day to be outside, and the formal dining room was far too fancy for breakfast anyway.

Neville started talking animatedly about work—some new variety of snargaluff pods had been discovered—and Pansy took a moment to register how content she was, how warm and perfect this life they’d built together was. 

And when he waved his hand around and smeared whipping cream on the tip of his nose, she laughed and leaned forward, swiping it away with her thumb and wishing the moment would never end.  
  



End file.
